The Broad Highway - Page 149/374

"Why not?"

"'Cause, it so 'appened as she married summun else."

"And the second?"

"The second were a fine, pretty maid tu, but I couldn't marry

she."

"Why?"

"'Cause, Peter, she went an' took an' died afore I could ax 'er."

"And the third, you married."

"No, Peter, though it come to the same thing in the end--she

married I. Ye see, though I were allus at 'er beck an' call, I

could never pluck the courage to up an' ax 'er right out. So

things went on for a year or so, maybe, till one day--she were

makin' apple dumplings, Peter--'Martin,' says she, lookin' at

me sideways out of 'er black eyes--just like Prue's they were

--'Martin,' says she, 'you 'm uncommon fond o' apple-dumplings?'

'For sure,' says I, which I were, Peter. 'Martin,' says she,

'shouldn't 'ee like to eat of 'em whenever you wanted to, at your

very own table, in a cottage o' your own?' 'Ah! if you'd mak'

'em!' says I, sharp like. 'I would if you'd ax me, Martin,' says

she. An' so we was married, Peter, an' as you see, theer was a

Providence in it, for, if the first one 'adn't married some 'un

else, an' the second 'adn't died, I might ha' married one o'

they, an' repented it all my days, for I were young then, an'

fulish, Peter, fulish." So saying, the Ancient rose, sighing,

and knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"Talkin' 'bout Prue," said he, taking up his hat and removing his

snuff-box therefrom ere he set it upon his head, "talkin' 'bout

Prue," he repeated, with a pinch of snuff at his nostrils.

"Well?" The word seemed shot out of George involuntarily.

"Talkin' 'bout Prue," said the Ancient again, glancing at each of

us in turn, "theer was some folks as used to think she were sweet

on Jarge theer, but I, bein' 'er lawful gran'feyther knowed

different--didn't I, Jarge?"

"Ay," nodded the smith.

"Many's the time I've said to you a-sittin' in this very corner,

'Jarge,' I've said, 'mark my words, Jarge--if ever my Prue does

marry some'un--which she will--that there some 'un won't be you.'

Them be my very words, bean't they, Jarge?"

"Your very words, Gaffer," nodded George.

"Well then," continued the old man, "'ere's what I was a-comin'

to--Prue 's been an' fell in love wi' some 'un at last."